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"My worries evaporated as soon as our boat sped into a magnificent bay.
The town of Saranda sweeps in a grand arc around one of the great
natural harbours of the Ionian Sea. No doubt the Communist regime of
Enver Hoxha once pumped a good deal of sludge into these blue waters,
but one side-effect of Albania's abrupt de-industrialisation in the
early 1990s is a lack of pollution."

The Original article from the Indepenent can be found here
Visting Saranda from Corfu is easy because it takes less then half an hour for a pleasant boat trip.

You can come with boat or car from the nearby countries. The alternative is to fly to the only international airport "Mother Theresa"
that is ~25 minutes from Tirana.

****

I admit, I crossed the
short stretch of water to Saranda, accompanied solely by
grizzled-looking Albanian Gastarbeiters, with unease. I knew a splendid
"lost" Roman city lay close to Saranda, but what of the town? Would
there be hotels, running water, power  a menu I could understand?

My
worries evaporated as soon as our boat sped into a magnificent bay. The
town of Saranda sweeps in a grand arc around one of the great natural
harbours of the Ionian Sea. No doubt the Communist regime of Enver
Hoxha once pumped a good deal of sludge into these blue waters, but one
side-effect of Albania's abrupt de-industrialisation in the early 1990s
is a lack of pollution.

...

Finding digs from which to enjoy the blue
expanse was easy. In recent years a building boom has gripped Albania
as villages empty their populations into the towns and as a huge
population of expatriate workers in Greece, Italy and Britain pour
their savings back into the mother country  and into concrete, as no
one much trusts banks.

The result is hotel after hotel after
hotel, most with improbable names  either American cities (Chicago,
New York), spiritual destinations (Paradise, Heaven) or odd historical
personages. I chose one named after Mussolini's daughter, Eda, for its
prime seafront location, and was delighted with my squeaky-clean double
room and balcony overlooking the sea  all for half the price of my
dreary hotel room in Corfu, which had only overlooked bins.

Apart
from any number of hotels and restaurants serving fresh, unfussy meals
of meat, soups, pasta and mussels  the last from the nearby freshwater
lake  the town of Saranda has few historic sights to detain visitors
beyond the ruins of a 4th-century synagogue. So the next day, I hopped
into one of the fleet of waiting taxis and headed about 12 miles south
to Butrint, a journey that costs about 10 each way. I left the
concrete half-builds behind, entering a wild and untamed landscape of
bare mountains, churning lakes and expanses of grassland  a raw and
pristine world that vaguely reminded me of Skye. There, where marshland
meets the sea, lies the lost city of Butrint, a great city in Greek and
Roman times that Virgil mentioned in The Aeneid, but which sank slowly
into oblivion after Slavic tribes invaded the Balkans in the 6th
century.

State managed, with the aid of the London-based
Butrint Foundation, its excellent condition and signposting contrast
sharply with so many other archaeological sites I have seen in the
Balkans, abandoned since the fall of Communism to treasure hunters and
thieves.

An inviting restaurant-hotel, the Livia, sits at the
site entrance, a great place to wind down after a long walk through the
glades and ruined churches and eat a meal of fish soup, chicken fillets
and Tirana beer.

I left Albania wanting to go back, surely the
benchmark of a successful holiday. I never got to the ancient town of
Gjirokaster, about an hour's drive from Saranda, and I would love to
stay at the Livia, walking from there to the scattered hilltop
villages, some Greek Orthodox, some Muslim, that I saw on the horizon.
There is great birding to be done in Butrint, too, for the wetlands are
rich in egrets and orioles, not to mention otters.

The other
reason I want to go back is because the Albanians are palpably
enthusiastic for visitors. After years of isolation they have flung
open their rather battered front door and are putting a trembling best
foot forward.

With its moody, unchartered and, in places,
bewitching landscape, southern Albania is sure to become better known
in future, as news spreads of its increased accessibility. Perhaps it
will eventually become as exhausted from mass tourism as Corfu. But
that day is far off. There is still time.